Next morning, at
breakfast, Pleyel related an event which my disappearance had
hindered him from mentioning the night before. Early the preceding
morning, his occasions called him to the city: he had stepped into
a coffee-house to while away an hour; here he had met a person
whose appearance instantly bespoke him to be the same whose hasty
visit I have mentioned, and whose extraordinary visage and tones
had so powerfully affected me. On an attentive survey, however, he
proved, likewise, to be one with whom my friend had had some
intercourse in Europe. This authorized the liberty of accosting
him, and after some conversation, mindful, as Pleyel said, of the
footing which this stranger had gained in my heart, he had ventured
to invite him to Mettingen. The invitation had been cheerfully
accepted, and a visit promised on the afternoon of the next day.
This information excited no sober emotions in my breast. I was, of
course, eager to be informed as to the circumstances of their
ancient intercourse. When and where had they met? What knew he of
the life and character of this man?
In answer to my inquiries, he informed me that, three years before,
he was a traveler in Spain.
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